Too beautiful for human eyes

OBSERVANT BOAT OWNERS will have noticed a growing fad down at the marina: boat burkas.

A recent discovery that nicely varnished teak incites uncontrollable passion in human beings has apparently led to a large-scale movement to cover up all sailboat brightwork.

The latest issue of Good Old Boat magazine features an extensive article explaining how the author sewed Sunbrella covers for the Dorade boxes on her boat.  Apparently the Dorade boxes on deck, so  lovingly sanded, sealed and varnished by her husand, were made of sexy teak and needed to be hidden from public view.

 You may think it strange that someone would go to considerable expense, time and trouble to cover up teak that was sealed and varnished at considerable expense, time and touble with the express intention of attracting the admiration  of passers by. You may think that if a highly polished teak Dorade box were to be hidden beneath a boat burka, it might as well be made from third-grade knotty pine and left unfinished. But you would be wrong.

Apparently there is something you are missing here.  Perhaps beautiful teak Dorade boxes are creating dangerous passions in impressionable people.  Or perhaps there is a deeper psychological reason behind the burka movement — perhaps the owners of covered-up teak have realized that when something is deliberately hidden in this way, the viewer automatically imagines it to be the most beautiful and desirable object he or she has never seen.

I myself have been struck by the sight of a Pacific Seacraft sloop with every bit of teak woodwork above decks carefully burka-ed.  Whole gunwales were covered with Sunbrella fabric, carefully buttoned down with dinky little fastenings every few feet. I was not, however, overcome with a desire to rip it off and feast my eyes. I must admit that what struck me about it was the waste of time doing the varnishing in the first place, and the small fortune the canvas shop must have made from all that fancy work.

I must admit, further, that the meager amounts of well-weathered teak that have adorned some of the boats I’ve owned were never the objects of excited admiration from passers by. Rather the opposite. In fact, hiding them from public view with boat burkas would have been the decent, merciful thing to do. But luckily for me, boat burkas weren’t  in fashion back then.

Today’s Thought

There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion.
— Francis Bacon

Tailpiece

“Do you know a man with one eye called Falconetti?”
“Dunno. What’s his other eye called?”

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Length tells it all

ANYONE WHO SAILS can form a fairly accurate mental impression of a yacht by establishing its length. A 20-footer is probably a daysailer, for instance, and a 35-footer is probably a coastal cruiser.  That’s not always the case, but as generalizations go, it’s pretty solid.

According to author Douglas Hunter, and yacht designer Steve Killing, hull length has such an impact on the cost, usefulness and speed of a boat that it should be one of the first decisions made by the designer and the prospective owner.

In their book, Yacht Design Explained, the two men maintain that boat length permeates the mindset of the purchaser of a boat, and also of the production builder — much more so than displacement or sail area.

Because we all relate far more to length than to any other criterion of yacht design, the relationship between the length and the price of production boats can encourage what the authors call “absurd marketing strategies.”  I think we all know boats that fit that description, with models being given names that don’t reflect their actual size.

“The boat advertised as a Blue Ocean 42 may actually be only 40 feet overall,” Hunter and Killing say, “but the name creates visions of safe and comfortable ocean passages at a reasonable price; conversely, the Zippy 38 (actually 40 feet overall) is promoted as ‘a fast boat for its length.’ Of course it’s easy to be faster than all the other 38-footers when your boat is two feet longer.”

The obvious benefit of a large boat is the space it contains, but the authors warn that there are instances when longer doesn’t necessarily mean better. “A 40-foot sailboat can be much more difficult to handle than a 30-footer. The area and weight of the sails increase, which means that not only are they more difficult to carry up on deck and hoist, but sheeting them in also requires greater force. Jobs like moving the traveler to windward, which can be done by hand on a small boat, require a winch on a large boat. A retired couple might appreciate the below-deck amenities of a larger boat, but could find sailing it overwhelming or at least tiring and inconvenient.

“And with a larger boat, even the cruising ground is surprisingly altered. The larger boat often will expand the territory, since longer voyages are now possible on larger bodies of water. But what happens when the boat arrives at its destination? A 45-foot cruiser, while spacious and fast, won’t be able to enter many fine little anchorages due to the increased depth of its keel.”

Hunter and Killing say many cruisers find that a boat in the range of 35 to 39 feet offers the best trade-off — small enough to be ably handled by one or two, but large enough for a family of four to cruise with some comfort.

A few feet of extra length in a sailboat make a disproportionate difference in speed and accommodation (as well as price) but they also make a great difference in the stresses and strains of boat handling and the cost of repairs and maintenance. For those reasons I have always advised cruising couples to go even smaller.  For me, 39 feet is getting too big.  My preference is between 29 and 35, with a heavy-displacement 30 or 31-footer being the ideal size for a cruising couple.

But, as Hunter and Killing point out, for every sailor there is an ideal boat length.  And it has been my experience that trying to convince people that I am right, and they are wrong, is a thankless and pointless task.  So I don’t argue. I just bite my tongue and leave them to find out for themselves by making expensive mistakes. 

 

Things would be so much easier if people would just listen to me and do things my way.

— Yacht Design Explained, Steve Killing and Douglas Hunter (Norton, New York, 1998)

Today’s Thought

The first requisite of any practical boat is safety, the second comfort, and the third speed.
— Edson B. Schock

Tailpiece

“Do you know your blood type?” the doctor asked the blonde blood donor.
“Yes, of course, doctor.”
“Well, what type are you then?”
“I’m the sexy type, doc.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

How little water do you need?

HOW MUCH FRESH WATER do you need on an ocean passage? Or, to put it a better way, how little do you really need?

If you’ve ever spent any time in the desert you’ll be aware that most town-dwellers are profligate users of water. It’s a tendency we have to learn to overcome very quickly when we put to sea because sailboats can’t carry much fresh water. It’s simply too bulky and too heavy.

For as long as I can remember, experts on public health have urged us to drink at least eight glasses of water a day, but I can assure you from personal experience that when you go cruising you can get by on far less, even in tropical climates. According to The Captain’s Guide to Liferaft Survival (Sheridan House) you can last indefinitely on a pint a day in temperate climates, two pints in the tropics.

My family and I once averaged just under half a gallon a day each on a six-month voyage in a 31-footer, and that included water for cooking and bathing, though I should add that we bathed in salt water and then used a small garden spray filled with fresh water to wash off the salt.

Nevertheless, for planning purposes it’s wise to count on a minimum of one gallon per person per day at a speed (for most medium-sized yachts) of 100 miles a day.

You’ll very likely average more than 100 miles a day, and that will automatically give you a welcome reserve and great peace of mind.

Finally, don’t ever be tempted to drink sea water unless you have plenty of fresh water to wash it down with.

Today’s Thought

Whenever someone asks me if I want water with my Scotch, I say I’m thirsty, not dirty.
— Joe E. Lewis, Is Salami and Eggs Better than Sex? (Alan King and Mimi Sheraton)

Festive greetings

HERE’S HOPING you have a Merry Christmas or a Happy Holiday, whatever suits you best.  I hope Santa Claus has been checking out the marine stores and filling his bag with nice little nautical surprises for you. Best wishes to you all, and, with any luck, a peaceful and prosperous New Year to follow.

Tailpiece

OUR local police department reports that they found an abandoned car containing a case of whisky bound up in a big red bow. They haven’t traced the owner yet. They’re still working on the case.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

New sails, old materials

THIS IS THE SEASON when sailmakers hope you will bring in your sails for a little tender care. It’s also the season when a lot of us start wondering if we need new sails, and if so, whether we should go the whole hog and order laminated sails made of exotic materials.

In Sven Donaldson’s excellent book Understanding the New Sailing Technology the author points out that the majority of today’s sails are still being made from woven sailcloths that are, at best, only marginally improved over the materials in use during the 1970s.

Although Donaldson’s book was published in 1990, his statement still holds good. The new technology of molded and laminated sails is going strong, of course, but comparatively few sailboats are using sails of Spectra, Kevlar, Mylar and other exotic materials because of their higher cost and reduced life.

Dedicated racing boats are the major customers for high-tech sails because of their greater efficiency. But if you don’t mind dropping behind by a few seconds a mile, cheaper nylon and polyester (Dacron, Terylene) sails will do just fine, accept more knocks, and last longer.

While improvements are being made all the time to the fibers, weave, design, and construction of “ordinary” sails, especially with the help of computers, it’s likely that laminated sails and glued panels will point the way to the future for all sailboats.

But don’t rush things. The future isn’t here yet. Sailors are ultra-conservative, and for very good reasons.

And here’s a final thought to chew on: One-design racing has shown that laminated sails aren’t consistently faster than new sails made from firm-finished Dacron sailcloth.

Today’s Thought

All progress is based upon a universal innate desire on the part of every organism to live beyond its income.

— Samuel Butler, Notebooks

Tailpiece

Little Mary woke at 2 a.m., called for a glass of water, and demanded to be told a fairy story.
“Hush, sweetheart,” said her mother, “your father will be home soon and he’ll tell us both one.”

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Heed the call

I’VE JUST BEEN READING Kenneth Grahame’s delightful book, The Wind in the Willows, for the umpteenth time. It is, of course, a paean — a hymn of praise for all that is good and beautiful in the world, and particularly among the little animals and countryside of England. All amateur sailors should know the book because of Mr. Rat’s timeless quote about “messing about in boats,” but it struck me that this book also espouses the philosophy of many cruising sailors who were brave enough to make the break with the comforts and security of modern life in order to fulfill the human soul’s longing for adventure, new places, new faces, and experiences that only comes only to those with the guts to launch themselves into a new life.

In the book, a wandering seafaring rat is describing to Mr. Rat the port toward which he is traveling:

“There, sooner or later, the ships of all seafaring nations arrive; and there, at its destined hour, the ship of my choice will let go its anchor. I shall take my time, I shall tarry and bide, till at last the right one lies waiting for me, warped out into midstream, loaded low, her bowsprit pointing down harbour. I shall slip on board, by boat or along hawser; and then one morning I shall wake to the song and tramp of the sailors, the clink of the capstan, and the rattle of the anchor-chain coming merrily in.

“We shall break out the jib and the foresail, the white houses on the harbour side will glide slowly past us as she gathers steering-way, and the voyage will have begun! As she forges towards the headland she will clothe herself with canvas; and then, once outside, the sounding slap of great green seas as she heels to the wind, pointing South!

“And you, you will come too, young brother, for the days pass, and never return. Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes! ’Tis but a banging of the door behind you, a blithesome step forward, and you are out of the old life and into the new! Then some day, some day long hence, jog home here if you will, when the cup has been drained and the play has been played, and sit down by your quiet river with a store of goodly memories for your company.”

Today’s Thought

Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will — whatever we may think.

— Lawrence Durrell

Tailpiece

“Johnny, why is your nose bleeding?”
“A boy punched me, Miss.”
“What boy?  Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
“Yes, of course, I’d know him anywhere. I’ve got his ear in my pocket.”

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

When is a boat too tender?

MOST SAILBOATS lacking in initial (or form) stability lose their tenderness as they heel and become progressively (and reassuringly) stiff. But if a boat fails to start resisting heeling after she has reached an angle of 15 degrees or so, and continues simply to lie over and dip her gunwale in reasonably moderate winds, she’s probably too tender for safety. If she won’t stand up to all working canvas in 15 knots or so, don’t hesitate: seek professional help, preferably from a naval architect.

One of the paradoxes of boat design is that the boat that seems to be tender initially will likely be more seaworthy than the one that is stiff to start with. That’s because most capsizes are caused by wave action, not wind, and when a boat is upside down she will recover more quickly if she is reasonably narrow and has a deep, heavy, ballast keel. A wide shallow boat, while stiff to start with, tends to remain upside down a long time if she is capsized by a wave.

Liveaboard cruising boats often lose stability imperceptibly as their owners gather possessions over the years. This causes a boat’s ballast keel to become an ever-smaller percentage of displacement.

The situation can be improved substantially by lowering weights wherever possible. These include internal ballast, books, water and fuel tanks, batteries, outboard engines clamped to the aft rail, life rafts, dinghies, provisions, and anything higher than the boat’s center of buoyancy.

Keep your spars and rigging wire as light as possible. That goes for the sails and fittings, too. Hanked-on foresails improve stability more than roller-furling sails because they can be lowered in bad weather.

Incidentally, it pays to lessen weight aloft. Because of the effect of leverage, every ounce off the top of the mast is worth a pound added to the keel.

Today’s Thought

Remember that there is nothing stable in human affairs ...
— Isocrates, Ad Demonicum

Tailpiece

Some of us believe a girl’s family tree doesn’t matter, as long as she has the right kind of limbs.

(Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)

How best to buy a boat

PEOPLE WILL OCCASIONALLY ASK ME for advice on buying a boat. I can’t understand why. I don’t know anything more about buying a boat than the next man, perhaps a lot less.  What most people don’t realize is that I have twice bought boats by mail, sight unseen (well, just photographs). As a matter of fact, on both occasions the deal worked out fine, but it’s not something I would recommend to anyone else.

What I do urge people to do is find out everything they can about the kind of boat they want, and then go hunting for one.  It’s not necessary to wait until a particular boat is advertised for sale.  The idea is to find the boat first, and then persuade the owner to sell it to you. That’s the method I’ve used for every boat I’ve ever bought, apart from the two mail-order brides.

You need to be patient if you adopt this approach, but it works more often than not.  You simply find out who owns the boat you desire and then you start bugging him to sell her to you.  If you’re confident enough, you can sweeten the offer by agreeing to take her off his hands as she stands.  No haul-out, no survey, no sea trials.  It’s an offer few owners can resist.

The minute you make your first approach, something starts ticking in the owner’s mind.  Consciously or sub-consciously, we all think how nice it would be to own a bigger boat, a faster boat, a better boat, a boat with a new engine . . .  One of the things that stops us is the thought of all the hassle involved with selling our present boat.  If someone comes along and offers to take her off your hands with no fuss, no bother, your scheming mind sees a direct pathway to the boat you’ve always dreamed of. You start looking around. Opportunities arise. Boats you’d never thought of owning before suddenly become possible.

I worked on one owner for six months before he would sell me his pretty little C&C 28-footer. He enjoyed her, and she wasn’t for sale, but that little worm was eating away inside his head , and I encouraged it with the occasional phone call to ask how things were, and if he was ready to sell yet, and if I could have first dibs if he was.

Then one day, out of the blue, he called and said: “Okay, you can have her.” He was a lawyer, and he sent me a letter, written by hand on one page, that was our sales agreement.  I sent him a check, and that was that. It was a wonderful way to do business, and I loved that boat.  I only sold her because I needed a slightly bigger boat to cross an ocean.

I found the one I wanted. The owner was up to his ears in the middle of a refit.  “Will you sell her to me?” I enquired. 

“Can I stop working on her?” he asked. 

“Yes,” I said.

 And once again, that was that.

Today’s Thought

There is no such thing as “soft sell” and “hard sell.” There is only “smart sell” and “stupid sell.”
— Charles Brower, President, Batten, Barton, Durstine & Osborn.

Tailpiece

A New York scent manufacturer has invented a man’s cologne that drives women crazy. It smells like money.

 (Drop by every Monday, Wednesday, Friday for a new Mainly about Boats column.)